


The Joys of Accidental Parenthood

by remy (iamremy)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, British Men of Letters (Supernatural) Being Assholes, Episode: s12e04 American Nightmare, Found Family, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Dean Winchester, Parental Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s12e04 American Nightmare, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychic Abilities, sam and dean are good dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/remy
Summary: They keep Magda.Written for the Sam Winchester Prompt-a-Thon.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester & Magda Peterson, Magda Peterson & Dean Winchester, Magda Peterson & Sam WInchester
Comments: 39
Kudos: 121
Collections: Sam Winchester Prompt-a-thon





	The Joys of Accidental Parenthood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Labinzel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Labinzel/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Labinzel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Labinzel/pseuds/Labinzel) in the [SamWinchester_Prompt_a_thon](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SamWinchester_Prompt_a_thon) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Magda in the bunker.
> 
> Either she survives being attacked or they don't send her off in the first place. (bc that didn't make any sense she still didn't know how to control her powers?!)
> 
> I'd love to see Sam and Magda talking about religion and feeling damned by their nature but it's up to you. As is whether Magda triggers Sam's psychic powers or not.
> 
> • Bonus points for talking to Missouri for advice.  
> • 2x Bonus points for Magda being triggered/uncomfortable underground but slowly starting to feel safe there.  
> • 3x for Dean teaching Magda how to cook or shoot (domestic fluff or how to protect herself whatever you feel like😊)
> 
> -
> 
> you know what, i had absolutely NO intention of taking on another prompt. NONE. and then i saw yours, and i COULDN'T FUCKING RESIST. i loved that episode, and i absolutely adored magda, and i'm still salty about how it all ended, and this is the perfect opportunity to undo that. thank you so much for this amazing prompt!
> 
> i had a lot of fun writing it (as you can probably tell from the word count lmao) and i did try to keep it short, but uh. it kind of got away from me. it's not my fault these three are so much fun to write! i tried to do your prompt justice, and include everything you asked for, and i really hope you like it!

Magda has her head on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam puts an arm around her, and Dean sees her close her eyes, leaning into Sam for comfort. He’s the only one who could possibly understand everything she’s been through. Right down to the unaccepting parents, Dean realizes with a pang. Even though John was never as bad as Magda’s parents had been, Dean knows that part of the reason Sam had gotten so much grief over being different was because of John’s fear of Sam’s potential powers.

 _If you can_ _’_ _t save him, you have to kill him_ , John had said. And though Dean had known the last thing he could ever do was kill Sam, his little brother hadn’t seen it that way. _Do it_ , desperate, pressing Dean’s gun into his own belly. _I_ _’_ _m a freak, Dean!_ Pained, and pleading, wanting to be told otherwise even as he said the words.

Before he can overthink himself out of it, Dean walks over to where Sam and Magda are sitting, and stops with his hands in his pockets. “Doin’ all right?” he asks softly.

Magda opens her eyes to look up at him. It takes a few moments for her expression to shift from wariness to something more relaxed, but then she nods.

Dean nods too. “Good,” he says. “Sam? Can I have a word?”

“What about?” Sam asks with a frown.

Instead of answering, Dean looks at Magda, and then back at Sam.

“Oh.” Sam gently extricates himself from the girl, and says, “I’ll just be a moment, okay?”

She nods again, apprehension back on her face. Dean feels a little bad, knowing she’d been drawing comfort from Sam, but reasons that it’ll only be a couple minutes.

“What is it?” Sam asks, when they’ve walked out of earshot.

“This aunt she’s going to,” Dean says. “You think she can handle her?”

“Handle her?” Sam repeats. “I don’t know, Dean. She can barely control her powers, but what choice does she have?”

Dean glances over to Magda, who’s watching them talk, and then looks back at Sam. “We could bring her with us,” he says. “I mean, we’ve got the room. And we can – you know. Help her.”

Sam frowns thoughtfully. “You’re serious?” he asks after a moment. “I mean – it’s a huge responsibility, Dean. And the kind of lives we live—”

“Exactly,” Dean interjects. “Who better than us, Sammy? Her aunt’s just gonna freak, man. And look, she already trusts you. She’ll be safer with us than a relative she doesn’t know, or CPS, or whoever comes for her when her aunt can’t handle her anymore.”

Sam exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He looks out to Magda, just as Dean had moments prior, and then back to his brother. “I thought about taking her too, you know, I just didn’t know if… I mean, she’s just a kid, Dean. What if we can’t protect her?”

There’s a vulnerability to his expression that Dean has only seen when he’s thinking of Adam, or Kevin, or Charlie. Softening, he reaches out to touch Sam’s arm lightly. “We got this, Sammy,” he tells him, voice low. “We’ve got a huge bunker, more lore than we know what to do with, and protective sigils out the wazoo. Ours are the safest hands she’s got.”

“Okay,” Sam says after a moment. “Okay, Dean. Let’s do it.”

Dean smiles. “Why don’t you go tell her the good news, then? I’ll get the car started.”

Sam smiles back, before turning to go back to Magda.

It takes some convincing for the local authorities to release Magda into “federal custody,” but eventually Sam and his determined-puppy eyes get it done. Magda doesn’t have a lot of belongings – all of it fits neatly into a backpack, which is as depressing as it is convenient. Sam helps her into the backseat, smiling reassuringly at her the entire time, and eventually her wariness dissolves enough for her to relax as much as she can.

Dean’s expecting questions, but instead she falls asleep barely half an hour into the car ride. He checks up on her in the rearview mirror, and sees that she’s lying down in the backseat, head pillowed on her backpack, and her eyes are closed.

“Must be tired,” Sam murmurs, gaze following Dean’s.

Dean nods. “Yeah.” He turns the music down, and pretends he doesn’t see the way Sam softens at the gesture.

She wakes up only twice – once when they stop to refuel, and the second time when they stop for food. Sam offers her the menu, smiling gently and asking her what she wants, coaxing her into choosing something for herself. She’s had too many things decided for her, her entire life; the least they can do for her now is let her choose what she wants to eat.

The entire time, Dean can’t help but notice the way she looks around the diner, taking everything in like she’s seeing it for the first time. He can’t help but wonder, uneasily, how long it’s been since her family let her out of that basement. How long it’s been since she’s had any fresh air, or the opportunity to stretch her legs. She’s far too pale, from lack of sun and anemia both, probably, and way too frail.

The server arrives. Dean orders the special. Sam asks for a salad. Magda takes one look at the menu, and another at Sam, and then hesitantly asks for a salad, too. Sam beams, sunshine in a dingy old diner, and Magda smiles back, still a little uncertain.

She doesn’t finish her salad, but it’s still progress in Dean’s opinion. Five minutes after they leave the diner, she’s already gone back to sleep in the backseat. Sam keeps turning around to look at her, almost as if he’s afraid something will happen to her, while Dean keeps an eye on her prone form in the rearview.

“Think she’ll be okay?” he asks Sam quietly, so as not to disturb her.

“I don’t know,” Sam admits, “but I’m hoping so.”

“Me, too.”

It’s almost dawn when they finally get home. Sam gets Magda settled in the room right next to his, while Dean gets their stuff from the car and then goes off in hunt of a spare toothbrush. Both of them notice the discomfort on Magda’s face, but neither of them comment on it, not until she’s been settled in and they’re alone again.

“I thought she was doing okay,” Dean says with a frown, heading towards the kitchen. “Why is she still scared?”

“It’s not something that’s gonna go away in a few hours, Dean,” Sam reasons. “Besides, she spent all those years in a basement, and now we bring her to this underground bunker… she’s probably not a fan.”

“Much bigger than her basement, though,” Dean points out as he heads for the fridge. “Safer than anywhere else in the country, too. And we’ve got Netflix.”

Sam nods, sitting down at the table. “I’ll talk to her in the morning, make sure she’s handling everything okay. We should give her a tour, too, last thing she needs is to get lost in here.”

Dean slides in across from Sam, handing him a beer. “Yeah. Man, we got our work cut out for us, Sammy.”

Sam nods, taking a sip. “Yeah, we do. But Dean—” He looks earnestly at his brother. “I really think we can do it. I mean, it won’t be easy, but… I think we can help her.”

Dean considers this for a second. “Yeah,” he says in the end. It’s why he brought up the idea of bringing her home in the first place. He reaches out, clinks his beer bottle with Sam’s. “Here’s to hoping, Sammy.”

“Here’s to hoping,” echoes Sam.

Sleep eludes Dean that night despite his exhaustion. There are a million thoughts running through his mind, in no particular order, all of them crashing into each other, jumbled and messy.

Mom. _I love you_ , she’d told them, and left them anyway. _If you can_ _’_ _t save him you have to kill him,_ John had said, and he’d left too. _I_ _’_ _m a whole new level of freak_ , Sam had said, so close to tears, so ashamed of himself he could hardly bear it. And Dean, knowing he could never kill Sam, knowing he wasn’t like John—

But had he been much better?

None of it had ever been Sam’s fault. All Sam had wanted his entire life was to try to understand why he felt so different. All he’d wanted was for his family to accept him despite those differences. Even before he’d known of Azazel’s curse, of the demon blood, of his destiny.

God, he’d just been a _baby_. Dean remembers him as he’d been at six months, so small and chubby, always smiling whenever he saw Dean, cooing at him in whatever language infants spoke. Always reaching out for Dean with tiny hands, giggling when Dean spoke.

How could John ever have believed that this little baby could be evil? How could Dean have ever feared him going darkside? Even at the height of Sam’s addiction, when he’d been out of his mind on the blood and hurtling along towards self-destruction at lightning speed – even then, he’d been _good_. He’d made mistakes – _big_ ones – but he’d damn near broken himself trying to fix them.

He _had_ broken himself, Dean reminds himself sharply. He’d signed himself up for an eternity of torture with two pissed-off archangels, with no hope of ever escaping, or even the mercy of death.

 _I_ _’_ _m a whole new level of freak_.

How much of it, Dean wonders now, could have been avoided? Realistically, he knows the answer is not that much at all. The angels and demons had made damn sure of that, doing their best to drive the two apart, to break everything between them. But the more Dean thinks about it, the more his heart sinks, because when he thinks of Sam’s powers, he thinks of the demon blood, and then he thinks of Sam’s stints in the panic room. He thinks of Sam begging and screaming and crying in there.

Ruby’s fault, he reminds himself. Not Sam’s. Ruby’s, right from the beginning.

He wishes he’d known it then.

Unsurprisingly, he finds Sam already awake when he heads to the kitchen in the morning. Sam is sitting at the little table, bent over a piece of paper, and when Dean goes closer he realizes Sam is drawing a simplified map of the bunker, presumably for Magda’s convenience

“Morning,” he greets.

“Hey,” Sam answers, not looking up. He looks like he hasn’t slept much either. “There’s coffee in the pot.”

“Ah man, what would I do without you?” Dean pours it out and joins Sam at the table. “Had breakfast?”

“Had coffee,” Sam answers, still preoccupied with the map.

“I’ll make you something in a few,” Dean tells him. “Magda still in bed?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “Figured she’s wiped out, so I didn’t wake her up.”

“Mm,” Dean hums.

A few minutes pass before Sam is finally done with the map; putting his pen down, he looks up, and then blinks at Dean. “You look like crap,” he tells him bluntly. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

Dean puts down his nearly empty coffee cup. “Not much,” he admits.

“You all right?” Sam asks, concerned.

“Yeah, was just thinking,” Dean tells him, purposefully vague.

“About?” prods Sam.

“Stuff.” Then he catches the look on Sam’s face, and relents. “’S nothing, Sammy. Just… I was thinkin’ about back when you had your powers.”

Sam stiffens. “Yeah?” he asks, trying to appear unaffected.

Dean nods. “Yeah. Probably could’ve handled it better, huh.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was a cluster, man,” Dean sighs, shifting uneasily in his seat. “I just thought… I should probably have listened to you.”

“You weren’t wrong, though,” Sam says, after a moment of stunned silence. “I mean. I was _way_ off the mark, dude.”

“I know, I know,” Dean says. “Not sayin’ you weren’t, Sammy. But I can’t help thinkin’ it could’ve been better if we’d just… I don’t know, _talked_ , man. We never _talked_ back then, not about the important stuff. And look where that got us.”

Sam exhales slowly through his nose, looking away from Dean. “I don’t know that it would’ve made a difference,” he murmurs, fidgeting with his pen. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t very open to feedback.” He lets out a rough, mirthless laugh.

“Like I was,” counters Dean. “Look, you’re not the only one who messed up, okay. And it’s not a competition,” he adds the moment Sam opens his mouth to argue. “I don’t wanna hear about who did worse, Sam. It doesn’t _matter_ now, ‘cause we never had all the facts till it was too late.”

Sam thinks about this, eyes dropping back to his pen again. Dean watches him tap his fingers restlessly against the tabletop for a few moments, and wonders what’s going through his mind. The Apocalypse is old news now, and not even close to the worst thing that’s happened to them. What they’d done then barely registers anymore on the scale of the things they’ve done since. And he knows Sam no longer blames himself for it, not after everything he’s done to atone. Dean really has no good explanation for why he’s bringing all of this up now.

“I’m glad that we talk now,” Sam says in the end, and finally looks up at Dean. “About everything.”

“Me too,” Dean replies at once. “It’s never gonna be that bad again, man.”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

They’ve worked too hard to get here. Nothing else matters.

Magda joins them some time later. She slides in next to Sam even though there’s space on the other side of the table. She’s rubbing sleep from her eyes, and Dean smiles a little at how it makes her look far younger than she is.

“Morning,” he greets her.

“Good morning,” she replies, halting.

“Slept well?” Sam asks.

She nods, a little shyly. “Y-yes.”

“Breakfast?” inquires Dean. “There’s coffee, and I’ve got an omelet and some bacon going. What do you want?”

Magda blinks, seeming overwhelmed by the choices. She stares contemplatively at the coffeemaker for a few moments, during which Dean turns back to his cooking. Then she says, “Um. May I have the omelet?”

“’Course,” says Sam at once, turning big eyes on Dean. Dean nods, sliding some of the omelet from the pan to a plate and adding some toast to it before handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she says at once.

“Do you want some coffee, too? Or milk, we have milk too,” Sam adds. “There should be some orange juice in the fridge as well, um, whatever you want.”

“Sammy and I usually have coffee,” Dean tells her, “but you can have anything you want.”

Magda pauses. “Anything?” she repeats skeptically.

“Yes,” Sam confirms, smiling kindly at her. “This is your home now, Magda. You can do anything you like.”

She still looks doubtful, and Dean realizes that she doesn’t actually _know_ what home’s like. She doesn’t know how to navigate a space without caution, or how to exist without punishment.

Quietly he plates the rest of the omelet for himself and Sam, adds some bacon to his plate, and then takes a seat across from them. He hands Sam his plate, and then tells Magda, tone as gentle as possible, “Look, it probably seems a lot to process right now. But, uh, we mean it.”

“No one’s going to hurt you here,” Sam adds. “For any reason.”

“Even if I’m bad?” Magda asks, voice small.

“You mean the things you can do?” Sam asks.

Magda nods. She seems to have forgotten her breakfast entirely.

“They don’t mean you’re bad,” Sam tells her gently. “You were scared, Magda. You’re not a bad person.”

“I hurt people,” she begins.

“Because you were scared,” Dean cuts in. “You didn’t do it to be bad. You did it to protect yourself. Half the time you didn’t even mean to, isn’t that right?”

Magda nods slowly.

“We can help you,” Sam says. He reaches out, and when she doesn’t move away from him, he puts his hand down on her bony shoulder. “Dean and I. We can keep you safe and help you figure all of this out. You have nothing to be afraid of, here.”

Magda looks intently at him, eyes wide and unblinking, and then at Dean, who holds her gaze. For a few moments it seems like she’s seeing straight into his soul, reading it; and then she relaxes minutely, leaning into Sam’s side, and says, “I would like some orange juice, please.”

Sam smiles so wide his dimples show, and Dean gets to his feet immediately. “Got it,” he tells Magda, and turns away to hide his own smile under the guise of opening the fridge.

They settle into some semblance of routine. Magda makes good use of Sam’s hand-drawn map, and by the fourth day she no longer needs it at all. She’s still reserved, still seems wary of most things, but around them she’s relaxing, slowly but surely.

They take her shopping, with Dean assuring her money’s not a problem while Sam encourages her to pick out literally anything that appeals to her. It turns out she enjoys floral prints, and when Dean catches her looking uncertainly at a tube of lipgloss, he adds it discreetly to the cart, too.

On her sixth night there, Dean is woken up in the middle of the night by a grinning Sam. “She’s making a sandwich!” he tells Dean excitedly.

“So?” Dean asks blearily, propping himself up on his elbows. “Why aren’t you in bed, man?”

“I was,” Sam tells him, practically falling over himself with happiness, “and then I got thirsty, so I went to the kitchen, and she was making a sandwich!”

Dean racks his brains. A few seconds pass by, and when he fails to come up with something unusual about midnight snacking, he raises an eyebrow at his brother. “Dude,” he says.

“Don’t you get it?” Sam asks, elbowing Dean. “She’s comfortable, Dean. She’s not scared something bad will happen if she does what she wants.”

“Ah.” It dawns on him then. “That’s – that’s great, Sam,” he says sincerely.

Sam nods, still smiling. He looks like someone’s promised him ten Labrador puppies. Hell, he looks a little like a Lab himself right now, with his bright grin and messy bedhead.

“Go to bed, dude,” Dean tells him, lying back down. He yawns. “It’s ass o’clock, Sammy.”

“I know, I know,” Sam says, getting off the bed. “Sorry, I just got excited—”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about,” Dean tells him. “’S progress.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, as he pauses by the door. “It feels good.”

“It’ll feel just as good in the morning, trust me,” Dean says wryly. “Close the door on your way out.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling as he leaves.

There’s no mention of Magda’s powers for a while, not from her or either of them. Nothing happens around her that’s out of the ordinary, at least not for a few days. If he’s being honest with himself, Dean’s secretly relieved. Maybe they’re like Sam’s powers – they’ll go away by themselves, and she won’t have to worry about them any longer. And they won’t, either. Maybe now that she’s not stressed and afraid all the time, she no longer needs to use them.

This theory is proven wrong about two weeks after Magda’s arrival. Dean wakes up to what feels like an earthquake; his bed is shaking, and so is his dresser, his side table, his desk, and everything else in the room. One of the guns mounted on the wall falls off, and Dean jumps at the sound. Tense, he gets out of bed and grabs the gun he keeps under his pillow, flicking the safety off and holding it ready as he leaves the room.

The ground is moving, too. Dean’s only taken a few steps out of his room when he sees Sam emerge from his, looking pale and stressed. “Magda,” he tells Dean, lowering his gun.

Dean nods. “Be careful,” he warns Sam. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s well-aware of the possibility that she could accidentally hurt one of them.

Sam nods his agreement, and pushes Magda’s door open.

She’s still asleep, it seems, but caught in a nightmare; she’s practically thrashing in bed, and everything in the room is rattling unnervingly. Dean’s seriously concerned about the place falling apart if this keeps up. Magda’s powers, it seems, are stronger than either of them had thought.

“Magda,” Sam says, kneeling next to her bed and putting his hand on her shoulder. “Magda, wake up, it’s just a nightmare—”

She cries out in her sleep, and in the next moment Sam goes flying, back hitting the opposite wall and gun falling out of his hand. Dean rushes forward, but halts when Sam holds out a hand. “I’m okay,” he says quickly, getting to his feet. “We’ve got to wake her up, Dean—”

“How?” Dean demands. He doesn’t approach her, keeping his gun held out in front of him.

“I don’t know,” Sam admits tersely, and then goes near the bed again.

“Sam—”

“It’s fine,” Sam interjects, and this time doesn’t make a move to touch her. “Magda,” he says loudly. “Magda, wake up, please, you’re safe, I promise—”

“Screw this,” Dean mutters, not wanting to wait for her to whoosh Sam away again. He grabs the glass of water on her nightstand and throws the contents in her face, before putting it down quickly, grabbing Sam, and moving away from the bed.

Magda sputters awake, hands coming up to her face to wipe water out of her eyes. Immediately, the rumbling slows to a stop.

“Magda?” Sam tries once more, voice gentle and soothing. “Are you all right?”

Because _of course_ Sam would ask her that after she’s inadvertently knocked him into a wall, thinks Dean with resigned fondness, his hands still on Sam’s shoulders.

Magda nods shakily, moving wet hair out of her eyes. She looks around the mess of the room with wide eyes, and her expression morphs into horror. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, ducking her head. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Sam says quickly, crossing the room in two strides and sitting down next to her. “It’s okay, Magda, we’re all okay, you’re safe—”

He reaches out and gently moves her hands away from her face. “I promise,” he adds softly, as Dean comes to stand behind him.

She looks up at them both, bottom lip quavering. “I had a bad dream,” she whispers.

“It’s okay,” Sam repeats, squeezing both her hands in his. “We all have them. It’s all right.”

“Did I hurt you?” she asks, like she’s afraid of the answer.

“No,” Sam lies, and gives her a reassuring smile.

“You’re safe here with us,” Dean reminds her, his own voice low and comforting. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore, kid.”

“But what if _I_ hurt someone?” she asks, and a tear slips down her cheek.

“You don’t mean to—” Sam begins.

“But it still happens!” she interjects, pulling her hands out of Sam’s so she can scrub at her face. “What am I supposed to do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean tells her, sitting down on her other side. “Me, you, and Sammy. We’ll fix this, all right?”

“You’re not alone in this, Magda,” Sam tells her.

She looks at him, and then at Dean, and then nods, pale face determined. Then, before either of them can say anything, she reaches out and wraps shaky arms around Sam.

He hugs her back immediately, one hand rubbing circles into her back. Over her shoulder he looks at Dean, who looks back, an unspoken conversation, and then Dean leans in too, putting a hand on Magda’s back as well.

She falls asleep again soon after, and Sam gently settles her back into bed, while Dean goes about cleaning her room as much as he can. They leave her door ajar and move to Sam’s room, keeping his door open too just in case she calls out for them.

“That was bad,” Dean says quietly, sitting down in Sam’s chair.

Sam nods, lips pressed together. He gets back into bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. “We’ve got to do something, Dean. I don’t think we can handle this on our own.”

“Who else could we ask?” Dean questions.

Sam hums thoughtfully, fidgeting with the edge of his blanket. Then he looks back up to Dean, and says, “Missouri? She helped me.”

“Missouri,” Dean repeats, turning the idea over in his mind. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. In the morning, though,” he adds, yawning.

“She’ll kick our asses for not calling all this while,” Sam says wryly.

“We’d deserve it,” Dean mutters with a grimace, and then gets to his feet. “You, uh, you good?”

“Yeah,” Sam tells him. “Back’s a bit sore, but I’m fine.”

“Let me take a look—” begins Dean.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Sam repeats. “Go to bed, Dean. I’m okay.”

“If you say so,” Dean says, still not entirely convinced but willing to take Sam’s word for it. For now. “See you in the morning, Sammy.”

“’Night, Dean.”

Magda sleeps in the next morning. They let her be; she’ll be up whenever she’s rested. Dean waits for Sam to be back from his run before starting breakfast, and they sit at their kitchen table with the phone between them, speaker on.

Missouri’s voice still has that softness to it that Dean remembers, even as she opens with an irate, “Boy, didn’t I say not to be a stranger?”

“Sorry,” Sam says, looking guilty even though she can’t see him. “We’ve had a lot going on.”

“So I heard,” Missouri says after a moment. “But I’m glad you boys got through it all.”

“Thanks,” Dean says. “How are you doing?”

“All right,” she answers. “Now, I’m guessing this is about that sweet girl you two just brought home?”

Dean raises his head, sharing a look with Sam across the table.

“Yes, Dean, still as sharp as ever,” laughs Missouri.

Dean grins. “Never doubted you for a moment, Missouri.”

“How is she doing?” Missouri asks.

“She’s all right,” Sam tells her. “A bit, um, shaken. She’s having trouble with her powers.”

“Poor thing,” says Missouri sympathetically. “What have you two got in mind?”

“Well, I wanna help her figure out how to control them,” Sam says at once, “but, uh, I don’t really know how. I mean, with me it was…”

“Demon blood,” Missouri finishes when Sam trails off.

Sam grimaces. “Yeah. Obviously not an option here.”

“The demon blood did nothing but enhance your powers, Sam,” Missouri says after a moment. “It amplified what was already there.”

“Ruby said the same thing,” Sam says after a moment.

“Before we’d stabbed her,” Dean remembers.

“Yeah.”

There’s a pensive silence. Then Missouri says, “Well, Sam, it’s over and done with now.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Sam says quickly. “I just want to help Magda. But even before Ruby and the blood and everything, I didn’t really… I mean, it was the same, you know? It only happened when I was upset. It wasn’t something I could control.”

“That’s why we need your help. We’re kind of out of our depth here,” Dean admits.

“Take it slow,” Missouri suggests, after a few seconds. “Assure her she’s safe. Yes, I know you’re doing that already, Dean, don’t even think about interrupting me. Encourage her to start with the little things. Can she move a pencil when she’s _not_ upset? How about open a door? Start small, move up to the bigger things over time.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Sam says with a little smile.

“Only because I know you can do it,” Missouri responds, and through her voice it’s clear she’s smiling too. “You’re good men. I have faith.”

“Thank you,” Sam replies, soft.

“Means a lot,” Dean adds, just as quiet.

Missouri hums. “You’re good men,” she says again. “All right, I’ve got to go now, I’m sensing I’ll have a visitor in about twenty minutes, and I need to go put some tea on. Have you boys got it handled?”

“I hope so,” Sam says.

“Good,” she says firmly. “And Dean? Be kind.”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Dean says, after a moment, a little nonplussed. Of course he’ll be kind—

“Understand what I’m saying,” Missouri says. “Be kind, Dean.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says again. “Got it.”

Which is a lie. He has no idea what she means.

From her sigh, it’s obvious she knows what he’s thinking. “You always did take some time to get to the important things,” she murmurs. “But you do get there.”

This is getting more and more confusing by the second. Going by Sam’s face, he doesn’t understand, either. “Um, thanks, I guess,” Dean says in the end.

“Take care, boys.”

“Bye, Missouri.”

She hangs up.

Dean opens his mouth to ask Sam what he thinks she meant, but just that moment Magda walks in, yawning. Immediately Sam’s attention is on her; he smiles, and she smiles back, before heading towards the fridge. “There’s no more orange juice,” she announces a moment later.

“We’ll get some more later,” Dean tells her. “You, uh, you sleep well?”

She nods. “Much better. Thank you.”

There’s a short silence as she fills a plate with the bacon Dean had left for her, and then joins them at the table. Sam waits for her to take a few bites, and then says, voice gentle, “So we spoke to an old friend of ours, about, um, your powers.”

Magda stops chewing, looking up at Sam curiously.

“She’s helped us before, a few years ago,” Sam continues. “And she’s, um. She’s a psychic.”

“Like me?” Magda asks.

“Not exactly,” Sam tells her. “She’s clairvoyant. She can read minds, see a little of the future, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So uh, we were thinking – when you feel up to it, do you want to, um, practice some things with me and Dean? With your powers, I mean.”

“I can’t really control them that much,” Magda says after a pause.

“I know,” Sam says. “But that’s what I was hoping we could practice.”

“What if I hurt one of you?”

“We’ll practice in Sam’s stupid yoga room, it’s full of mats and stuff,” Dean tells her. “And I think we’ve got bulletproof vests stashed somewhere.”

“Will we need those?” Magda asks apprehensively.

“It was a joke,” Dean says after a moment.

Magda frowns, as if trying to figure it out. Sam smirks at the look on Dean’s face, and says, “Told you you’re not funny.”

“Shut up, I’m hilarious,” Dean retorts, rolling his eyes.

“He’s not,” Sam stage-whispers to Magda, “but he gets upset if I don’t laugh at his jokes.”

Magda cracks a grin at that, which makes Sam smile, too. And even though it’s at Dean’s expense, he can’t help but smile as well.

They make their way to Sam’s exercise room after breakfast. “Don’t know why you need a whole room for this crap, man,” Dean complains as Sam switches the light on.

“’Cause I want it,” Sam says, like it’s reason enough. Dean supposes it is; he may grumble, but it does make him happy to know that they’ve got the room for Sam to do the things he wants to do.

“Yoga’s still stupid,” he says, after a pause.

Sam ignores him, instead busying himself with covering the floor in yoga mats. Dean honestly has no idea why he even owns this many, but he’s not about to complain; it’s definitely coming in handy.

“All right, let’s sit,” Sam says when he’s done. He sits down, cross-legged, in the center of the room, and Magda mirrors him, sitting down facing him. Dean sits down next to Sam, and begrudgingly admits to himself that the mats are, in fact, nice and soft.

Sam puts down an empty water bottle in the two feet of space between him and Magda. “Figured we could start with something small and light,” he tells her.

“Am I supposed to move that?” she asks him.

Sam nods. “Try your best,” he says. “It’s totally fine if you can’t do it today,” he adds.

“I could do it before,” Magda reminds him. “Remember, I showed you, with the cross?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, nodding again. “We can build on that. Do you think you could move the bottle in a circle around us?”

“I’ll try,” Magda says skeptically. She eyes the water bottle, as if trying to suss out how much damage it’ll cause if she accidentally sends it flying across the room. She must conclude that it’s safe, because after a few moments she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and screws up her face in concentration.

Sam and Dean both watch her with bated breath.

The bottle rises, hovers for a moment, and then falls back down with a muffled thump.

Magda exhales all at once, and opens her eyes. “Did I do it?”

“Not entirely,” Dean tells her.

She looks disappointed, but Sam jumps in quickly. “It’s fine,” he says, and gives her an encouraging smile. “We can build up to it, it’s fine.”

“Can I try again?” she asks after a thoughtful pause.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Go slower this time,” Dean adds. “Close your eyes. Think about the bottle. Think about it moving around us. Try that, see if it works.”

Magda nods at him, and closes her eyes again. She inhales, long and slow, and then she holds it, her entire body totally still as she concentrates.

For two seconds, the entire room is still. Then the bottle rises, moves in a wobbly semicircle around them, and then falls down again.

Magda’s eyes fly open. “Did I do that?” she asks, her words flying out on an exhale.

Sam nods, smiling. “Yeah. You did.”

Magda beams back at him, but it shifts into a wince a second later. “Ow,” she mumbles.

“Magda?” Sam asks, concerned.

“My head hurts,” she mutters, putting her fingers to her temples. “Is it supposed to? It didn’t, before.”

“I think it’s ‘cause of your powers,” Dean says. “’Cause you’re actually focusing on them now.”

“I used to get headaches too,” Sam tells her sympathetically. “I think we’re done for today. C’mon, let’s get you something for the pain.” He gets to his feet and holds out his hand; she takes it, letting herself be pulled up.

“You did good,” Dean tells her as he hands her an Advil and a glass of water, once they’re back in her room. “Real good.”

“We can practice some more tomorrow,” Sam says. “Over time the headache should go away.”

“It better,” she mumbles, knocking back the Advil, “’cause this _sucks_.”

The statement is so unexpectedly teenage that it has Sam and Dean both laughing out loud. Magda gives them both a baleful look, to which Sam responds by putting his hand on her shoulder and saying, “We’re not laughing at you, I promise.”

“You just sounded like an actual kid, that’s all,” Dean finishes. “It’s a good thing,” he adds when he sees the look on her face.

“Sam’s right,” Magda says after a moment. “You’re really not funny.”

“Hey!” exclaims Dean in mock outrage. “I’m hilarious! It’s not my fault you two don’t appreciate me.”

“Sure,” says Sam, rolling his eyes.

Magda grins at him, a small one, and then lies down. “Can I nap?” she asks.

“’Course you can,” Dean tells her. “Do you want us to wake you up later?”

She shrugs.

“Cool, we’ll give you a few hours,” Sam says. “Give the Advil some time to work, and all that. You, uh, you good?”

She nods, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “Can you leave the door open?” she asks as they get to their feet.

“Sure,” says Sam again. “See you later, Magda.”

“Okay,” she says, and gives them another small smile as they leave.

It’s progress.

“How’d you know what to tell her?” Sam asks, once they’re in the kitchen. He’s standing at the counter, chopping up spinach, while Dean starts up on pasta and chicken.

“It’s in every movie, isn’t it?” he replies, leaving the pasta to boil as he searches for a third pan.

“It actually worked,” Sam says after a moment. He sounds surprised.

“Hey, don’t doubt the informative power of cinema,” Dean jokes.

“No, you were actually good with her,” Sam tells him. “You were patient.”

“She’s just a kid, Sam,” Dean replies, putting the pan on the counter so he can collect ingredients for the sauce. “You done with the spinach?”

Sam nods, gathering it all in the center of the chopping board and pushing it towards Dean. “No, yeah, I know,” he says, in response to the first part of Dean’s sentence. “It’s – it’s good.”

“Sammy, you gotta cut these finer, man,” Dean says, taking the spinach and sliding it off the board into a blender. “And thanks,” he adds, a little awkwardly.

Whatever Sam’s about to say is drowned out by the sound of the blender going. Dean’s hoping that’s the end of it, but the moment the blender shuts off, Sam says, “We should probably update Missouri.”

“Yeah.” An idea occurs to him. “I’ll do it later.”

“Sure, okay,” Sam says, thankfully not asking why Dean doesn’t want to do it together. “You need any help?”

“Yeah, c’mere, watch the chicken,” Dean tells him, gesturing towards the second pan on the stove. “No point in all this hard work if the chicken’s overdone.”

Sam comes over, moving the chicken about the pan with a spatula. “You’re actually quite good at this,” he tells Dean.

“What, cooking?” Dean asks absently, measuring out ingredients for the sauce.

“Yeah,” Sam says softly. “At… at making this place home.”

Dean looks up, surprised. Sam’s not looking at him; he seems focused on the chicken, like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

He smiles. “’S not just me, Sammy,” he says softly, nudging Sam’s shoulder with his own. “Ain’t a home if you’re not in it with me.” It’s something he would normally never admit out loud, even though they both know it – but there’s something about the soft look on Sam’s face, the relaxed line of his back and shoulders, that has Dean’s tongue loosening.

Sam smiles a little, and then murmurs, “Chicken’s done, I think.”

Dean takes over. “So it is,” he says a moment later. “Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem.”

Sam retreats into the library after lunch, saying something about John’s journal and the lore. Dean waves him off, and then takes his phone to his room, making sure Sam’s out of earshot before he dials Missouri.

“Good job,” is how Missouri greets him.

Dean stops short. “What, you know—”

“Not the specifics,” she interrupts with a soft, chiming laugh. “Just that you feel victorious right now. I’m assuming you’re having success with Magda.”

“Yeah, it started off well,” Dean tells her. “She’s asleep right now, though. Headache.”

Missouri clucks her tongue sympathetically. “Poor child. It’ll go away soon.”

“Yeah, we hope. Listen, uh. What you said to me earlier, about being kind… I’ve been thinking about it all day,” he admits. “And I can’t figure it out.”

“I know,” Missouri says, with a sort of fond exasperation. “It’ll take you some time.”

“Why don’t you save me some effort and just tell me?” Dean asks, trying not to feel frustrated.

“I can’t help you figure out something you already know, Dean,” Missouri answers, like that makes any sense at all. “You’ve got to get there yourself, you know.”

“Get _where_?” Dean asks, exasperated. “C’mon, Missouri, it makes no sense! You know I’m being kind to her—”

“I didn’t say be kind to Magda,” Missouri cuts in. “I said be kind.”

“What does that _mean_?” Dean is about three seconds from tearing his hair out in irritation. “What kinda psychic mumbo-jumbo—”

“Language,” Missouri says, reproving. “You’re not being very reasonable right now, Dean.”

“ _I_ _’_ _m_ not being reasonable—?”

“You’ll get there,” Missouri repeats. If Dean didn’t know better he’d say she’s actually grinning right now. “And yes, this _is_ slightly amusing,” she adds, and he suppresses the urge to groan out loud. “Don’t you groan at me, boy. Now why don’t you go help your brother, he’s looking for some notes he made last month. Tell him they’re in the Occult section.” And with that, she hangs up.

Dean stares at his phone incredulously for a few moments, and then pockets it with a vehement “Fucking psychics.” Until he figures out what the hell she’s talking about, might as well go help Sam.

His phone beeps, a minute later. _Don_ _’_ _t you cuss at me, boy!_ From Missouri. Of course.

Dean really hates psychics sometimes.

Four days later, Magda has managed to lift the bottle and whoosh it around the room for a few laps, all without losing her focus or developing a headache. Sam’s so proud it’s like she’s cured cancer; it’s nice to see, not that Dean would ever say it out loud.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about Missouri’s words since their last conversation. It’s been driving him half-insane, keeping him up at night, as he tries to think of what she meant. He’s been as kind as he can be with Magda. But then again, according to Missouri, that’s not the problem.

 _I didn’t say be kind to Magda. I said be kind_.

He gets his chance one Saturday night. They’d spent a good day. Farmer’s market in the morning, where Sam let Magda help with picking out fruit and vegetables; she’d taken a particular shine to a jar of unprocessed honey that Dean paid for with a grin and a joke about how they should probably get her tested, just to make sure she wasn’t actually Sam’s long lost kid or anything. Sam had rolled his eyes at that, and so had Magda, which had led to a lot of grumbling on Dean’s part about how no one appreciated his humor.

Lunch had been uneventful, too. He’d roasted a chicken and baked a pie, and told Sam and Magda at length how lucky they were to have someone of Dean’s culinary talents cooking for them. Magda had helped them with washing up later, and then the three of them had settled down for a movie before dinner. Sam was helping Magda catch up on all the Marvel movies she’d missed thanks to her stint in the basement; this afternoon had been the second _Thor_ movie.

(Dean’s a huge fan of how Magda can float beer cans over to him whenever he asks. Sam’s a huge fan of how Magda can do it without developing a headache.)

Dinner had been just as uneventful as the rest of the day, which is why Dean can’t really explain why he’s got this strange, nauseating feeling in his gut as he goes to bed. Magda had been in good spirits all day, which means Sam had been too, and by extension, Dean. He really has no good explanation for why he suddenly feels on edge.

Still, he manages to doze off, after a while of lying on his back staring at the ceiling. He’s got his gun under his pillow and a knife within arm’s reach; whatever it is, he’ll be fine. He’ll handle whatever needs handling.

He jolts awake in the middle of the night. Unlike the last time, the room isn’t shaking, but there’s a feeling of _otherness_ to the air, the kind of eerie vibe Dean normally associates with cemeteries and big haunted mansions. He gets out of bed, every sense on edge, and quietly retrieves his gun from under his pillow.

Voices, he realizes a moment later. He can’t make out individual words, but whatever it is, whoever it is, they’re loud enough to be heard all the way to Dean’s room.

 _Sam_ , is his first thought. He has to make sure Sam’s safe. Magda, too.

It’s just one voice, he realizes when he’s closer to Sam’s room. And it’s Magda’s.

And she’s singing.

_I’ve got the joy, joy, joy_

_Down in my heart_

_Where?_

_Down in my heart to stay_

_And if the Devil doesn’t like it_

_He can sit on a tack_

_Ouch_

_Sit on a tack_

_Ouch_

_And I’m so happy_

_So very happy_ …

Dean suppresses a shudder at the words. He has no idea what the hell Magda’s singing – or _why_ – but it’s creepy as fuck, and it makes him feel uneasy in his own skin. He puts his hand on her doorknob, mind made up to inform her she’s keeping him awake, and that she can sing all she wants when it’s morning, as long as it’s something more normal—

She’s asleep. Magda is singing in her sleep. Around her, the room is normal. Undisturbed.

It’s not a nightmare, and yet Dean’s unease intensifies.

 _Sam_ , he remembers. There’s no threat, he knows now, and yet he can’t shake off the feeling that he should check on his brother.

Leaving Magda’s door ajar, Dean moves down the hallway, pushing Sam’s door open with his free hand. At first glance everything appears normal here too; Sam’s in bed, facing the door, appearing fast asleep. There’s a book open on the desk, with a dog-eared bookmark in the center, and Sam’s desk lamp is still on. His bedside alarm reads 03:00, on the hour.

Everything is fine.

There’s no reason Dean should feel like his skin is crawling, and yet here he is. He has no good explanation for any of it; all he knows is that his gut is screaming at him to go check on his brother, make sure he’s breathing, even though he looks fine, even though all that’s going to happen is that Sam will wake up and ask what’s going on—

Even in the lamp light, though, Sam shouldn’t look this pale.

Dean swallows, and puts his gun down on Sam’s table, safety on. He draws closer to his brother’s bed, and tries to keep his breathing steady as he sits down, putting a hand to Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy?”

There’s no response.

Sam should have woken up the moment Dean opened the door. Hunter’s instinct, even when at home, even when it’s Dean.

“Sam?”

Dean’s hand comes away wet. Sam doesn’t wake.

And then Dean sees the neat cross-hatched lacerations on Sam’s back, bleeding sluggishly into his night-shirt – or the tattered remains of it that barely cover his flayed skin.

Bile rises to his throat, acidic and overwhelming. “Shit,” he curses, springing to his feet, and then again, “Shit, shit, _shit_ , fuck, _Sammy_ —”

Sam doesn’t wake.

Dean’s specific amalgamation of hunter’s instinct and big brother instinct kicks in – he forces the nausea down, all but staggering to the sink in Sam’s room. He opens the cabinet behind the mirror so quickly he almost rips it off its hinges, but he can’t care about that right now. Grabbing the first aid kit behind it, he goes back to Sam’s bed, turning his brother on his front.

The bleeding has slowed down, but there’s enough blood that it makes it hard for Dean to work. Thinking quickly, he takes off his own shirt and begins blotting at Sam’s back, deciding he’ll worry about sterility later. Throughout it all, Sam doesn’t move, and it’s worrying enough that Dean keeps checking his pulse every few seconds, just to ensure he’s still there.

Okay, so – around five or six long cuts, but they’re thin, the edges are clean, he’s not going to need stitches. It’ll be hell on his back for a while, but he’ll be all right, thinks Dean as he disinfects with betadine. He hasn’t lost that much blood, he probably just passed out from shock—

Did he not wake up at all, though? Did his body not respond to the first cut? Dean doesn’t think he’d have slept through any sound of pain from Sam, not when he’s hyper-attuned to his brother even across empty rooms and hallways. He doesn’t understand, he has no idea _how_ this could’ve gotten this far without anyone realizing—

_Joshua fought the battle of Jericho_

_And the walls came tumbling down_ _…_

To Dean’s horror, as soon as the singing begins again, another cut appears on Sam’s back, starting from his left side and moving downwards, oblique across his back, to his right. Fresh blood spills over the edges, sliding over Sam’s broken skin, laying waste to all of Dean’s work.

“Magda!” Dean yells, horrified, and the singing cuts off abruptly. The cut stops.

Then, a few seconds, later:

_You may talk about your men of Gideon_

_You may talk about your men of—_

“Magda! Magda, stop, wake up!” Dean bellows, watching in dismay as the cut widens again. “Magda, _wake up_!”

The singing stops again. It doesn’t continue this time.

Dean grabs his shirt again, cleaning the newest cut so he can disinfect it. He has no idea how the hell he’s going to bandage Sam’s back, with Sam unconscious like this—

But then the betadine touches the edge of the wound, and Sam groans, stirring a little. “Sammy!” Dean says suddenly, hands stilling, voice heavy with relief. “Sam, wake up, man, come on—”

Sam’s eyes flutter open. “Wha’s goin’ on?” he mumbles sleepily, trying to move.

“Don’t,” Dean advises as Sam’s winces. “Back’s all torn up, man, let me take care of you—”

“What _happened_?” Sam asks again, and now his voice is pained. He sounds completely awake now.

"Don’t know for sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say Magda,” Dean says grimly. “Sorry,” he adds when Sam lets out another pained sound. “Gotta disinfect, man. You know that. Think you can sit up for me? Just so I can bandage it—”

He helps Sam to a sitting position, heart clenching at every sound of pain Sam tries to suppress. “Feel like I’ve been flayed alive,” Sam mutters once he’s upright, closing his eyes.

“You kind of have,” Dean points out, beginning to bandage Sam’s back. He wraps gauze around him, going around his chest, and Sam raises his arms when asked, though Dean can tell it physically hurts him to do so.

“Is – is Magda all right?” Sam asks, once Dean’s almost done. He’s got his eyes open now, looking at Dean through some pain-filled haze, and Dean’s heart feels like it’s breaking.

“I don’t know, Sam, I didn’t check once I found you,” he admits, a little shortly.

“Is she still asleep?” Sam asks, frowning. Dean honestly cannot understand how he can sit there with his torn-up back and still muster up concern for someone else.

“I’ll check in a bit,” Dean says, handing Sam a bottle of painkillers and the glass of water on his bedside table. “Here, take these.”

Sam obliges, knocking back a couple pills and then handing the bottle and glass back to Dean. “Dean, Magda,” he begins, the moment he’s done.

“Here,” comes Magda’s soft voice, and both of them turn to see her standing in the doorway. There’s a look of horror on her pale face, and her hands are shaking so bad it’s visible from across the room.

“Magda,” begins Sam softly, but Dean cuts him off.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asks.

“I just came,” she answers, and her voice is wet. “Is – is Sam all right?”

“I’m fine,” Sam begins.

“No you’re not,” Dean interjects at once.

“Okay, but I will be,” Sam fires back. “Magda, everything’s okay, I swear—”

“How?” she demands, shoving her hands into her pockets to hide the shaking. “I _hurt_ you, Sam, like I did all those people—”

“Magda,” Sam tries, holding his hands out, “Magda, listen—”

“My mom was right,” Magda interrupts, more and more distressed with each passing second. Her eyes dart around the room, seemingly unable to settle on any one thing – the blood on Sam’s sheets, the remains of his shirt on the floor, Dean’s bloody shirt on the bed, the open first aid kit and the painkillers on the side table. “She was right, I’m evil, I’m evil—”

Sam makes a half-rising movement as she backs out of the room. “Magda!” he begins, pleading, but that’s all he manages to get out before Dean grabs his arm and pulls him back as gently as he can. “Dean, what—”

“Stay here,” Dean tells him. “Do not argue,” he adds firmly when Sam opens his mouth to do just that. “You just had the skin ripped off your back, man.”

“Dean, she’s upset, I’ve got to talk to her—” Sam tries again, because he’s just too damn stubborn for his own good.

“I’ve got her,” Dean assures him quickly. “I’ll handle her, Sam, you just rest—”

“Dean,” Sam protests, but he’s beginning to wind down, the fight going out of him. It makes it easy for Dean to maneuver him out of bed, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist to support him, taking care not to touch the fresh wounds.

“You’re sleeping in my room tonight,” he tells Sam. “Your sheets and mattress are screwed, dude.”

“Where are you gonna sleep?” Sam asks, wincing as they walk slowly towards the door.

“Ah, I’ll figure it out,” Dean tells him. “Wouldn’t be the first time we shared.”

Sam’s exhausted by the time Dean gets him to his room, and drowsy from the painkillers. Dean helps him settle on the bed, lying on his front so that he doesn’t put pressure on his back, and then spreads the blanket over him, making sure he’s comfortable. Sam’s eyes close the moment his head hits the pillow, and he’s already half-asleep by the time Dean gets to the door.

Magda’s not in her room, that much is clear. The door is still ajar when Dean returns to it, but she’s not in bed, and so Dean figures she’s probably in the kitchen or the library. He makes his way there, still keyed up from the events of the night – but she’s not there either. Frowning, he returns to her room, which is when he notices that the cellphone they’d given her is no longer on the side table next to her bed.

“What the hell,” he mutters to himself, going back to his room where he’d left his phone.

Sam’s still asleep. Dean checks on him, making sure he’s all right even though it’s only been ten minutes since he left him, and then he takes his cellphone out so he won’t disturb his brother.

Magda’s phone goes straight to voicemail. Frowning, Dean tries again. Nothing this time either. Walking back to her room for the third time that night, Dean tries to ignore the sick feeling in his gut that still hasn’t left. Sam’s all right. Banged up as all hell, but he’ll be fine. And Magda’s probably fine too, she’s just scared, but he’ll find her, he’ll tell her it’s okay, it wasn’t her fault—

The third time is when Dean notices the disarray in Magda’s room. Two of her dresser drawers are hanging open, and her backpack is missing from its place in the corner. So are her shoes, and when Dean scans the room, he finds a small square of paper on the side table that he hadn’t paid attention to before.

 _I’m sorry_ , is all it says.

“Dammit,” curses Dean, pocketing it hastily. She’s done a runner, and she’s gotten a good head start, she could be anywhere by now—

He picks up his gun from Sam’s room and practically runs all the way back to his, throwing on a jacket and boots. Sam doesn’t stir, thanks to the drugs, so Dean scribbles him a quick note and leaves it on the side table, and makes sure that there are weapons near Sam just in case he should need them, as well as his cellphone.

Then, praying that nothing bad happens to his brother while he’s out, Dean leaves the bunker.

His first thought is to be grateful for the thick tree cover surrounding the bunker; Magda can’t have gotten far thanks to it, especially because she still doesn’t know the town that well. That’s not what’s worrying Dean; what worries him is that it’s almost 4 AM, and it’s pitch-dark, new moon and barely a handful of stars, and anything can get her out here.

“Magda!” he calls out, his voice carrying in the clear night air. “Magda, kid, where are you?”

There’s no response, which is fine; he hadn’t really been expecting one. Steeling himself, Dean sets out further into the trees, ignoring the chill he can feel on his skin even through his jacket. He turns his phone flashlight on, shining it on the ground around his feet, hoping it’s enough to make out any trackable marks if she’s left them.

“Magda!” he tries again.

Nothing.

An owl hoots, somewhere in the tree tops. Dean carries on, hyperfocused on every sound. He tries her cellphone again, and tries not to feel disheartened when it goes to voicemail again. She’s probably switched it off. If he can’t find her tonight, he’s going to have to go back home and get Sam to do his GPS tracking thing.

Off in the distance, there’s the vibrating roar of what Dean thinks is a motorcycle engine. Probably some dumbass kid out for a late-night ride, he hopes, but his instincts are on red alert, and he can’t help but think that it’s probably not the case.

He opens his mouth to call for Magda again, and then thinks better of it. He can’t really explain why.

Not for the first time since he’s set out, he wishes Sam were here with him.

The motorcycle engine cuts off. A moment later, Dean hears rustling, coming closer and closer, and realizes he’s not alone in the woods.

Hunter’s instinct screams at him to retreat, to hide himself until he’s found out who it is with him. But he’s got to find Magda, and she’s not safe out here on her own, he’s got to bring her home—

On a last Hail Mary attempt, he dials her cellphone again.

This time it goes through.

“Hello?” Her voice is shaky.

Dean exhales in relief. “Thank God,” he sighs into the phone. “Magda, kid, where are you?”

“I went away,” she says after a pause. She sounds dazed. “But then I heard Sam, and I had to come back—”

“Heard Sam?” Every hair on Dean’s body stands on end. “What do you mean, heard Sam? Is he all right? Magda, _where are you_?”

“Home,” she answers, voice trembling. “I came back. Dean, you need to come back too—”

That’s all Dean needs to hear. Saving the mystery of Magda’s return for later, he murmurs, “On my way, kid,” and hangs up.

The rustling is louder now. This close, Dean can make out footsteps. Pressing his back into the closest tree trunk, he keeps his gun at the ready with one hand, using the other to check the maps on his phone. He’s not too far from home; if he makes a run for it now, he can avoid whoever it is in the woods with him. He can always come back later and deal with people snooping around.

The rustling stops. For a moment, Dean and the stranger both remain still, though out of sight of each other. The person is close enough for Dean to hear their breathing; male, he thinks. Just a little out of breath, so probably in good enough shape for Dean to worry about it.

Then Dean sees the beam of a flashlight, and runs.

He makes no effort to be stealthy about it, crashing through the undergrowth in the direction of the bunker, guided by the map on his phone. With the sound of his heart racing in his ears, and his own pants, he can’t really tell if he’s being pursued. It takes him a few minutes to reach the edge of the woods, and from there he races to the front door of the bunker, taking a moment to ensure he’s alone before he enters.

He finds Magda’s backpack on the floor in the hallway. It looks like it’s been thrown down in a hurry. Unease increasing steadily – it hasn’t stopped, the entire night – Dean makes his way to his room, where Sam is.

Sam is awake, sitting up in bed, and Magda is sitting in Dean’s chair, facing him. She turns her head when Dean enters the room, and it seems like she shrinks, like she’s afraid of his anger.

“Everything all right?” he asks, going straight to Sam.

Sam nods. “Yeah. Where were you?”

“Out searching for Magda,” Dean answers, before turning to her. “What happened?”

“I heard Sam,” Magda tells him, after a moment. “Like… in my head. He sounded hurt, and I couldn’t ignore it, so – so I came back.”

Dean turns back to Sam, who grimaces. “It was just a bad dream,” he says, waving off Dean’s concern. “She, uh, she woke me up. I’m okay,” he adds quickly, as if anticipating the question.

Dean nods, accepting this. Nightmares are nothing new to either of them, unfortunately, and if they stopped to dwell on each and every one, they’d likely go insane within a week. Instead, he sits down on the other side of bed from Sam, and returns his attention to Magda.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Why’d you leave?” Sam asks.

She looks away, gaze fixed to her knees. “I hurt you,” she whispers. “I didn’t think you’d want me to stay—”

“Of course we do,” Sam says immediately. “Magda – we know you didn’t mean to, all right? And it’s not – it’s not even the worst I’ve had. I’ll be fine, Magda, I swear.”

“But what if it happens again?” she asks, voice shaking. “I can’t control—”

“Yes you can,” Dean cuts in firmly. “Yes, you can, Magda. It’ll take some time, but you can do it. I know you can.”

He can’t shake the image of the cut opening on Sam’s back, of the crosshatched lacerations, but Sam is giving him that look that says _I swear I’m fine_ , and Magda is avoiding eye contact with both of them, and God, she’s just a kid. Just a child.

 _Be kind_ , Missouri had told him.

“We can take measures, okay?” Dean says, as gently as he can. “To make sure this doesn’t happen again. Sam’s good with magic, I’m sure he’ll come up with something. Dampeners on our rooms or whatever, I don’t know. But we’re not giving up on you. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

Sam nods, smiling reassuringly. “This is your home now, Magda. We knew what we signed up for. We’re not mad at you, I promise.”

She finally looks up at that. Without saying anything, she looks at the two of them, and Dean gets the uncanny hunch that she’s reading his thoughts somehow. He has no idea how strong her telepathic abilities are, whether she can read his entire mind or just surface thoughts, but just in case he tries to project calmness, and safety, and strength.

It must work; eventually she nods, and attempts a small smile back at them. “Thank you,” she says softly.

“Nothing to thank us for, kid,” Dean says after a pause. “Get some shut-eye, now. It’s been a night, huh.”

She nods again, and gets to her feet. “Goodnight,” she says, when she’s at the door.

“’Night,” Sam and Dean reply in unison.

“You doin’ okay?” Dean asks Sam once the door’s closed. “Got any pain?”

“I’m fine,” Sam says automatically. If Dean had a penny for every time he heard that – from himself or his brother – they wouldn’t ever have to resort to credit card fraud again. “Um, not too much pain.”

“Good,” says Dean, kicking off his boots. He takes his jacket off and tosses it across the room, ignoring Sam’s indignant noise – it’s his room, he’ll do what he wants, and Sam’s just going to have to deal with it.

Sam settles on his side, facing Dean, for which Dean is grateful because it means he doesn’t have to look at Sam’s back. Sam’s still shirtless, the bandages contrasting sharply with his skin, and Dean honestly does not want to think of the wounds they’re covering. He doesn’t lie down, instead settling with his back against the headboard.

“You’re not gonna sleep?” Sam asks, and then yawns.

“In a bit,” Dean answers vaguely. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam replies, with the patience of a saint. “You can stop asking now.”

“Forgive me for being concerned,” mutters Dean, leaning down to flick Sam’s forehead.

Sam looks like he wants to retort, but he knows movement will just hurt him, and so he settles for making a face at Dean instead. It just makes Dean grin, though.

A few moments pass. Then Sam says, “You are actually pretty good with her.”

“Yeah,” Dean says shortly. He doesn’t want to admit how there’s still a small part of him, deep down, that wants to blame Magda for Sam’s injuries. She’s just a kid, he reminds himself, and she didn’t do it on purpose. It’s her trauma coming out when she can’t suppress it; Sam just had the misfortune of being close by.

Another thought occurs to him, and he asks, “Hey, you remember that social worker and delivery boy this happened to? Didn’t their brains turn to mush? And they had stigmata, too.”

Sam hums thoughtfully. “I guess you woke her up before it could get to that point.”

“Yeah, but—” Dean inhales. “Your head doesn’t feel any different? No pain, or anything?”

“No,” Sam answers with a frown. “Like I said – I’m all right.”

“Huh.” Dean considers this. “Think it could be ‘cause you had psychic abilities too?”

“Maybe,” Sam says slowly. “I mean, it’s definitely possible. I guess we could ask Missouri.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice trails off. Then he says, “What if your powers aren’t entirely gone, though?”

“You think?” Sam sounds surprised. “Why?”

“Just saying,” Dean replies vaguely. “Be cool if you still had ‘em. Come in handy on hunts and stuff.”

“You hated my powers,” Sam reminds him. “ _I_ hated my powers.”

There’s a short pause. He’s right, Dean knows. A lot of the latter had to do with Dean and John’s reactions to Sam’s powers. As for the former: “I guess I was just freaked out, man. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Yeah,” says Sam shortly. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about this.

“And then Dad saying you could go darkside… I didn’t know how to protect you from that,” Dean explains. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna kill you, ever, but I didn’t really know how to save you, either.”

“You and Dad never really trusted me,” Sam says after a pause. “I mean, you both always acted like it was a given. Like I was always going to go darkside and nothing could be done to stop it. You never really… I don’t know. Gave me a chance.”

“Well, you know Dad,” Dean says. “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”

“Except you _didn’t_ hope for the best,” Sam points out. “You both acted like it was inevitable.” He sounds hurt now, and Dean regrets bringing up the decades-old issue, regrets pushing it even when he knew Sam didn’t want to talk.

Sam painstakingly rises on his elbows and then turns on his other side, so that his back is to Dean now. Dean looks away, not wanting to see the bandages spanning across the width of his back.

“’S why I felt like a freak all the time,” Sam says, voice so low Dean has to strain to hear it. “’Cause you guys were so convinced I’d go bad and you needed to save me.” A short, harsh laugh. “Doesn’t help that you turned out to be right.”

“Sam…” Dean’s heart sinks. He has no idea what to say here. It’s been so long since then, and so much has happened, and he’d honestly thought that Sam no longer thought of himself in those terms.

“I don’t want my powers to come back,” Sam says, before Dean can go on. His voice is brittle. “I’ve – I’ve tried so hard to be good, and to take back all the things I’ve done, and I – I can’t be a freak again, Dean. I _can’t_.”

“You’re not—” begins Dean, for lack of anything better to say, but Sam sees through it.

“You don’t have to convince me, Dean, I’m fine,” he says. “It’s been a long time. I’m not gonna – I don’t know. Go off the rails again.”

“Sam—” That wasn’t what he meant, not even close.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

And that’s the end of it. Dean opens his mouth once or twice, but closes it again when he realizes that he really, truly has nothing he can say, not at the moment. The adrenaline is fading from his veins, but he’s still somewhat on edge, still vaguely nauseous. Now, though, he thinks it might have more to do with the conversation he unwittingly forced, and less to do with the events of the night.

 _Be kind_. He’s doing a bang-up job of that, he thinks bitterly. Absolutely fuckin’ _peachy_.

Sam’s not in bed when Dean wakes the next morning. He yawns, stretching, and then immediately regrets it when the muscles in his neck and back protest. He’d dozed off like this, sitting up, and he’s not really at that age anymore when he can just bounce back from a bad night.

The air in the hallway is heavy with the scent of food, and Dean’s stomach grumbles. Yawning again, he follows it to the kitchen, where he finds Magda making breakfast while Sam sits at the table with a cup of coffee cradled between his hands.

“Hello,” Magda greets when she notices Dean.

“Hey,” Dean replies, sliding in across from Sam. “Didn’t know you could cook.”

“It’s not that hard,” Magda says.

“You sleep well?” he asks.

She nods, handing him a plate of bacon and eggs. “Yeah, it was fine. I had a bit of a headache but I took some Advil for it.”

“Good,” says Dean.

“We’re gonna go through some lore today,” Sam says, speaking for the first time since Dean’s entered. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, notes Dean, and he’s still holding himself gingerly, like his back hurts.

“Sam thinks we can find a psychic dampening spell,” Magda says, sliding a plate of eggs in front of Sam. “I said I’d help him look.”

“What, for your powers?” Dean asks, momentarily taken aback.

“No, for places,” Sam tells him, taking another sip of his coffee. “At least for our rooms.”

“Makes sense,” Dean says after a moment.

“This is really good, thank you,” Sam tells Magda after taking a bite of his breakfast, and she beams at him in response.

None of them acknowledge the elephant in the room.

Dean doesn’t get a chance to talk to Sam alone, not until a few hours later. He corners Sam in one of the archive rooms, where Sam’s rifling through a file marked _Spells_.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” says Sam, and hands him the file. “Can you do me a favor, see if there’s anything specific in this? Whoever filed these clearly had no idea what organization means—”

Dean puts the file aside. “Sam,” he says, waiting till Sam looks up at him before continuing. “Do you think Magda’s a freak?”

“What – no, of course not,” Sam says at once, frowning. “She’s just a kid, Dean, she never meant to hurt anyone—”

“What about Missouri?” Dean interjects.

“Of course not,” Sam repeats. “Dean, what are you—”

“Then why would you think you’re one?” Dean asks, holding Sam’s gaze. “You didn’t ask for those powers. You never hurt anyone with them. Not innocent people, at least. So why would you think you’re a freak?”

Sam looks at him like he can’t believe Dean’s still talking about this. “I know it’s been a while,” he begins, every word irate, “but I’m pretty sure you remember that entire year I was hopped up on demon blood and lying about it. And you know, that little Apocalypse I set off.”

“Sammy, we’ve talked about this,” Dean says, doing his best not to wilt under the look Sam’s giving him. “You know we didn’t have all the facts, not until it was too late, you know it was literally a friggin’ cosmic conspiracy to start the Apocalypse—”

“And none of it would’ve happened if I hadn’t—”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean cuts in. “Or maybe it would’ve happened anyway, man. Cosmic conspiracy, remember? Every single piece on the board was angling for it, Sam. What were you and I supposed to do against that, on our own?”

Sam closes his eyes and exhales slowly like he’s trying to compose himself. “Dean, why are you still talking about this?” he asks when he opens them, and he sounds like he’s pleading. “It’s been years, and I’ve – I’ve done my time—”

“Because it’s not fair, Sam,” Dean bursts out. It comes out louder than he’d intended, and Sam actually takes a step back. “Because _I_ wasn’t fair to you,” Dean amends, lowering his voice to put Sam at ease. “Because you’re right, okay? Dad and I never gave you a chance, and it fucked everything up, and if you still think you’re a freak today, that’s on me, all right? A lot of it is on Dad, too, but he’s not around anymore to do something about it. Sam, listen to me.” He takes a step forward, closes the distance between them so that Sam can see the sincerity on his face. “Nothing about you is freakish or wrong in any way, all right? _Nothing_. And whoever let you think otherwise was an asshole. Yeah, even me.”

Sam, who’s been taking all of this in with a slightly stunned look on his face, finally speaks. “I don’t think you’re an asshole—”

“Thank you,” Dean says with a small huff of laughter, “but I was, sometimes. But I’m – I’m trying to better now,” he adds. “With Magda. And with you, too. And look – I’m not perfect either, okay? I’m gonna mess up, here and there. And I need you to call me out when that happens.”

They’ve worked too hard for too long so that they can finally be content now; Dean’s not going to give it up over something that happened so long ago it barely registers anymore. Especially when they’ve finally begun clearing the air around it.

Sam, it seems, is thinking the same thing. He watches Dean for a few seconds, looking thoughtful, and then he smiles, and reaches out to squeeze Dean’s wrist once before letting go. “Deal,” he says softly.

“Deal,” echoes Dean, and smiles back. “None of that freak crap from now on, y’hear?”

“Yeah, okay,” says Sam with a grin, ducking his head. “And listen?” He waits for Dean to hum in response, and then goes on, “You’re a damn good big brother, Dean. Best in the world. Go easy on yourself, you know.”

“All right,” Dean says, surprised, after a pause. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam nods at him, still smiling. Then, before the moment can become awkward or someone can begin crying, he says, “Are you gonna help me find the spells, or what?”

“Do I have to?” Dean grumbles, but he’s already flipping open the file Sam’s given him.

“Well, if you want to spice up your life by being thrown around occasionally, then I guess that’s your right,” Sam answers sarcastically.

“Yeah, okay, I get the point,” Dean retorts, and holds the file up higher to hide the fact that he’s still smiling.

Sam finds a spell soon after lunch. It’s pretty simple, doesn’t need too many ingredients, and in a couple hours Sam has managed to put a psychic dampener on all their rooms. If Magda has another episode where she can’t control her powers, it’ll be limited to her room, unable to cross over to Sam or Dean. Dean doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s a huge relief. Every single movement that Sam makes, every wince he hides, has Dean reliving the previous night all over again.

They call Missouri in the evening, after Magda has decided to busy herself by exploring the bunker. She picks up on the fifth ring. “I’ve got a pie in the oven that I have to see to in about eight minutes,” is how she greets them.

“Ooh, what kind of pie?” Dean asks, momentarily forgetting why they’d called.

“Cherry,” Missouri answers. “How are you two doing?”

“We’re good,” Sam says.

“How’s your back?” Missouri asks.

“Oh.” Sam blinks. “Okay, I guess. I just had a painkiller some time ago.”

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Missouri tells him. “You know your brother worries.”

Sam smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

Feeling awkward all of a sudden, Dean clears his throat, and then says, “We wanted to, uh, update you on what’s been going on, but I guess you’ve got an idea?”

“Yes,” she confirms, “but I’d like to hear it from you boys, anyway.”

They take turns telling her. When Dean reaches the part about the other man in the woods, Missouri goes silent. Sam frowns too, and Dean remembers that in all the commotion, he’d forgotten to mention it to Sam.

“So that’s the shadow I saw,” Missouri murmurs, almost to herself, when Dean finishes his story. “You boys are going to have to be very, very careful. You’re not safe.”

“Not safe?” repeats Sam. “Do you know who it is?”

“Or what?” Dean adds.

“Human,” Missouri says after a thoughtful pause. “Male, I’m quite sure. But I’m not getting much more than a shadow. I think, whoever he is, he’s taken steps to disguise himself even from psychic detection.”

“Great,” mutters Dean. “Thanks for the heads-up, Missouri.”

“Of course,” she says at once. “And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

There’s a smile in her voice as she says, “Good man.”

“Oh.” Dean pauses, taken aback. “Uh. Thank you.”

“You finally did figure it out,” Missouri goes on. “As I knew you would.”

“Figure what out?” Sam asks curiously.

“I’ll leave Dean to tell you about that one,” Missouri says. “I’ve got to go check in on my pie now. Keep me updated, boys.”

“Will do,” Dean promises.

“Bye, Missouri,” Sam adds. “You’ve been such a great help.”

“Of course, Sam,” she says, voice softening even more than it normally is. “Take care, boys.”

The rest of the week is fairly uneventful. Sam’s back gets better, slowly but surely. Magda gains more control over her powers; if she has any nightmares after that night, they don’t find out. The psychic dampeners seem to be working.

Dean finds Magda in the library one afternoon, engrossed in a copy of the Bible. Sam’s sitting across the table from her, appearing lost in whatever’s on his laptop screen, but as Dean sits down he notices his brother shooting discreet looks in Magda’s direction.

“’Sup,” he greets them both loudly, deliberately drawing their attention towards himself.

“Hey,” Sam answers, giving him a small smile as Dean takes the chair next to him.

“How’s it going?” Dean asks.

Sam shrugs. “Figured I’d look for cases, something nice and easy. Nothing so far, though.”

“I’m reading,” Magda tells him, not looking up.

“I see that,” Dean says. “The Bible, huh. Fun read?”

“I’ve just got some questions,” she answers vaguely. “My mom didn’t really let me read much of it.”

“Really?” Sam asks, surprised. “Thought she was big on the whole Old Testament stuff—”

“Yeah, but—” Magda pauses. “She wouldn’t let me read it. She just told me what to keep repeating, and I didn’t really – I didn’t really _understand_ it.”

“It was Aramaic,” Sam tells her softly.

She nods. “Yeah, I know.”

“So you think you’ll find answers there?” Dean asks, nodding to the Bible in her hand.

“I don’t know,” she replies after a moment. “Doesn’t hurt to try, right?” She looks up at Sam. “Or if you’ve read it… maybe you could tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Sam asks, lowering the laptop’s lid and sliding it to the side.

Magda hesitates. She closes the Bible and puts it back on the table, and then glances between Sam and Dean. “Um… do you think that… people with powers, like me, do you think we go to Hell?”

“No,” Sam says at once, and then again, more forcefully, “ _No_ , Magda. Why would you think that?”

“’Cause of your mom?” Dean asks before she can speak.

Magda nods. “She said if I didn’t – if I didn’t cleanse myself, and beg forgiveness for my sins, I’d go to Hell.”

“Well, she was _wrong_ ,” Sam says. “Magda – you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t – didn’t commit any sin, or whatever. There’s nothing to beg forgiveness for.”

“And you didn’t ask for these powers,” Dean adds. He’s hyper-aware of both Sam and Magda’s eyes on him – and of the fact that whatever he says now is going to be burned into both their minds for a long, _long_ time. “Magda, you didn’t ask for _any_ of this to happen. Not the accident that your mom got hurt in, or any of it afterwards. You never meant to hurt anyone. I don’t know why you were born with these powers, but – well, you’re not going to Hell ‘cause of them.”

“What you _do_ matters,” Sam says, when Dean pauses to breathe. “Magda – you’re not what’s in your blood. It doesn’t _define_ you. It’s a part of you, but—” He stops. Dean gets the impression he’s not quite sure how to word what he means.

So Dean does. “You’re not a bad person ‘cause of what’s in your blood,” he tells her, voice as firm and assuring as he can make it. “The only thing that decides whether you’re a good or bad person is what you do. That’s what Sam means. Right, Sam?”

“Right,” Sam says, and then clears his throat. He looks away when Dean turns to look at him. “What Dean said.”

Magda looks between both of them again, and then nods, a slow, pensive movement. Then she asks, “Sam, are you all right?”

Sam looks up at her, giving her a small smile. “Yeah, Magda. Don’t worry.”

Dean reaches out under the table, squeezes Sam’s knee once, and then goes back to his previous position. Sam doesn’t look at him, but his posture relaxes a little, and his face clears.

“You okay?” Dean asks. He doesn’t direct the question to either one of them in particular.

“Yeah,” Magda replies, and smiles. “Thanks.”

“Any time, kid,” Dean tells her. “Sam?”

“I’m all right,” Sam says. And then, voice lower, “Thanks.” Same as Magda.

Dean shrugs, pretending to brush it off. “It’s true, man. Learned it from the best person I know.”

“Who?” Magda asks curiously.

Dean just grins back at her.

She narrows her eyes at him, and then at Sam. It seems to click; she lets out an exaggerated, extremely teenage sort of groan, and says, “You guys are embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about expressing your feelings,” Dean tells her loftily.

Sam coughs.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sam says at once. “Just… surprising to hear that from you.”

“Hey, I’m expressive!” Dean protests. “Just ‘cause I don’t like chick-flick moments doesn’t mean—”

“What’s wrong with chick-flicks?” Magda cuts in. “They’re fun.”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“Don’t,” Sam advises Magda, grinning. “That’s too much logic for him, he might combust.”

“Oh, fuck off, Sammy,” Dean snaps, only a little heatedly.

“It’s okay,” Sam tells him, patting his arm. “I promise not to tell anyone you cried at the end of _A Walk to Remember_ —”

“Wait, you’ve seen _A Walk to Remember_?” Magda asks interestedly. She looks like someone’s just promised her a truckload of candy. “And you _cried_ at the end?”

“I did not,” Dean begins loudly, but Sam coughs again. “Sammy, I swear to God—”

“So wait, was it like, just a couple tears, or full-on crying?” Magda wants to know.

“He was in a bad mood for three days after,” Sam tells her. “Kept saying it wasn’t _fair_.”

“Well, it wasn’t!” Dean says, when he realizes he’s losing the argument. “The fuck she mean, she’s dying— what kinda sad fuckin’ _bullshit_ —”

“Dean, it’s just a movie,” Sam says, patting him on the knee, while Magda begins laughing. “It’s all right.”

“He named a star after her!” Dean says, crossing his arms in an effort to salvage his dignity. “That’ll make grown men cry, Sam—”

“Yeah,” Sam says with a grin, “so I’ve seen.”

“Oh, _shut up_ —”

Magda’s still laughing.

 _Ugh_ , thinks Dean, groaning internally. He’s never going to live this one down.

Missouri calls, three days after that.

“Shadows,” she warns as an opening.

“Shadows?” repeats Dean, bewildered.

“More than one?” Sam looks alert immediately. “When?”

“Yes, maybe three or four,” Missouri replies, “and – I don’t know when for sure, but… soon. Be careful, boys.”

Dean understands. “Got it. Thanks, Missouri.”

“Call me, after,” she says.

“Will do,” promises Dean. His expression is grim when he hangs up and turns to Sam. “Sammy, go get Magda. Keep her with you at all times, got it?”

“Dean,” begins Sam.

“They could be here now, or hours from now, but we’ve got to be prepared,” Dean interrupts. “Sam, I’m not taking any risks, all right?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, I get you,” he says, and gets to his feet. “I think she’s in her room. What are you going to do?”

Dean stands too. “Gonna get our stuff ready,” he says. “We’re as safe as we can be down here, but we’ve gotta be ready. Meet me here in ten, we’ll think up a game plan, all right?”

Sam nods again, and is out of the library in two long strides. Dean heads out too, walking as quick as he can in the direction of his room, where he’s got most of his weapons stashed. He fishes his gun out from under his pillow, makes sure it’s loaded, and tucks it into the back of his pants. Knife under the mattress. Angel blade in his desk drawer – just in case. Then he heads towards the weapons storage room. Flash bangs and smoke bombs might come in handy, too.

Magda and Sam both look tense when he returns to the library. Sam’s armed too, and Dean hands him an extra angel blade and a couple of smoke bombs. “You expecting a fight?” Sam asks quietly.

“Hoping it doesn’t come to that, but you never know,” Dean replies, sitting down next to Sam.

“I want to help,” Magda says, and they both turn to look at her.

“Magda,” Dean begins.

“I can help!” she says, more insistently this time. “I’m – I’m better at controlling my powers, and I can look after myself, and I can defend you guys!”

“Magda, you’re too young,” Dean tries again. “You’re just a kid—”

“You were hunters at my age!” she retorts. “And I’ve got _powers_ , remember? Don’t make me sit back and do nothing while you guys risk your lives for me!”

“Magda, you still need a lot more training,” Sam says cajolingly. “We haven’t even had time to teach you to fire a gun, or draw a Devil’s Trap—”

“Well, I don’t need to do either of those things right now, do I?” she demands. “Sam, _please_ let me help, it’s the least I can do for you guys!”

“You don’t have to do _anything_ for us,” Sam tells her. “Magda… you’re a kid. We took you in because we _wanted_ to. Because we thought we could help you. None of it is conditional on how useful you are to us, okay? You could stop using your powers completely and we’d still keep you.”

“’Cause you’re _ours_ ,” Dean adds fiercely. “And it’s our job to protect you, okay?”

There’s dead silence for a few seconds as she looks at the two of them, her mouth slightly open. She looks like she can’t quite process what she’s heard – but then she closes her mouth, eyes welling up, and strides around the table to throw her arms around both of them.

Dean hugs her back immediately, her body small and fragile in his and Sam’s arms. She reminds him painfully of Sam just then, when he’d been her age. His protectiveness intensifies, which he hadn’t even thought possible.

“I love you guys,” she mutters, voice wet and muffled into Sam’s shoulder.

“We love you too,” Sam murmurs, his eyes wet. He’s smiling, though, as he gently rubs Magda’s back, and it widens a little when he makes eye contact with Dean.

“You’re family, Magda,” Dean tells her when they all untangle.

“And family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten,” she adds solemnly.

“Damn right,” Dean says, grinning.

She grins back, wiping her eyes as she sits down next to them.

“I can’t believe you just quoted _Lilo & Stitch_,” Sam says with a quiet laugh.

“It’s a great movie,” Magda says, smiling at him. “One of my favorites.”

“Sam’s, too,” Dean tells her. “First time we watched it together, he spent the entire movie pretending he was sniffing ‘cause of allergies, not ‘cause he was crying.”

“It was pollen season—” Sam begins half-heartedly.

“He doesn’t have a pollen allergy,” Dean confides in Magda.

“I see,” she says. “Perhaps it was a one-time thing.”

Dean snorts. “Sure.”

“Dean cries his way through _The Fox and the Hound_ every time,” Sam pipes up, smirking.

“For the love of God, Sammy—”

“Shh,” says Magda, abrupt enough to cut through their bickering. Her eyes are narrowed, face scrunched up in concentration.

“What is it?” Sam asks, immediately serious. He pulls his gun out of his jeans at the same time Dean goes, both of them flicking the safeties off.

“I think I hear something,” she tells them.

Dean strains his ears. “I got nothing.”

“Not out loud,” Magda says, making a shushing motion with her hand. “I can hear some thoughts, not very clearly, though… like – like I’m trying to listen to someone while I’ve got headphones on.”

“They’re shielding,” Sam realizes. “Can you tell how far they are?”

“No,” Magda admits, after a moment of concentration. “But they’re definitely close by.”

Dean stands; Sam does too. “Okay,” he says. “Sammy – Missouri said there’s three or four of them. I think we can take them.”

Sam nods, looking determined. “Magda,” he says, “do you think you could hold them still?”

“I think so,” she says. “I mean, I can try.” She looks nervous now as she gets to her feet, like she’s only just realizing the gravity of the situation.

“Stay behind us,” Dean instructs her. “They’re probably going to come through the front door. Keep ‘em still, and Sammy and I’ll deal with them. Sound good?”

Both Sam and Magda nod.

Ten minutes after that, the front door bursts open with a loud, echoing _clang_. Sam and Dean are both ready and in position behind a table turned on its side – they spring into action, Dean throwing his smoke bomb as Sam yells, “Now, Magda!”

“Y-yeah!” she calls back shakily, and a moment later, the room fills with smoke. They can see lasers cutting through the haze, and Dean realizes uneasily that these people are _extremely_ well-armed.

“Magda,” he says, voice low.

For a moment it looks like her powers have failed – she’s breathing heavily already, but the lasers are still moving, and Sam’s beginning to look nervous now. Just as Dean’s beginning to seriously consider a backup plan, though, the lasers go still.

“What the fuck?” someone exclaims, in what is unmistakably an English accent.

Sam’s face hardens. “British Men of Letters,” he hisses, and gets to his feet just as the smoke begins to clear.

There are indeed four of them, as Missouri had predicted – four incredibly angry, bewildered men in full tactical gear, holding honest-to-God assault rifles. Every now and then they twitch, as if trying to get free, but Magda’s doing a good job of keeping them immobilized.

Sam and Dean make quick work of three of them, knocking them out easily with the butts of their guns. The fourth watches them work, a weirdly passive expression on his face. It’s almost like he’s not at all bothered by this turn of events.

Unease stirs in Dean’s belly, hot and prickly.

“Guys, _hurry_.” Magda sounds strained, and when Dean turns to glance at her he sees blood dripping from her nose. It takes him a moment to remember what she’d said – these people, whoever they are, have some sort of psychic shielding going on. It’s probably taking Magda everything she has just to keep them still for this long.

“Got it,” Sam murmurs, already finished with tying up two of the three unconscious men. Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as Sam restrains the third, and then the one Dean’s got his gun on.

“Who are you?” Dean demands, when Sam’s done.

“I think Sam here has already figured it out,” the man drawls, looking for all intends and purposes, _bored_.

“British Men of Letters,” Dean says, and then, “the assholes who hurt my little brother.”

The man nods. “ _Real_ Men of Letters,” he sneers. “Not like you uncultured gorillas, playing at legacies when you’re nothing more than grunts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, not at all interested. “Why did you attack us?”

“Are you here for Magda?” Sam demands, his own gun trained at the man.

“Yes, partially.” The ease with which he answers their questions has alarm bells going off in Dean’s mind.

“Why else?” asks Sam.

“To reclaim what is ours,” the man tells him. “You think this bunker, this ancient stronghold, it belongs to you? You’re merely termites in a castle.”

“Spare us,” snaps Dean. “This is our home, all right? Finders keepers, asshole, and I don’t give a shit what you’ve got to say about it—”

“Dean,” Magda grinds out. “Dean, I can’t anymore, my head, my _head_ —”

Sam moves at once, catching her as she collapses. The lower half of her face is covered in blood, and the front of her shirt’s soaked too. Sam puts his fingers to the underside of her jaw, and Dean hears him sigh in relief a moment later.

“She’s okay,” he tells Dean. “Just out cold.”

“Interesting,” notes the man, wriggling his hands experimentally. There’s no give to the zip-ties Sam’s used to tie him up with, though, and he gives up pretty quickly. The ability to move isn’t going to do him much good, notes Dean with satisfaction.

“What’s your name?” Sam asks, gently lowering Magda to the floor.

“Arthur Ketch,” the man replies. “Ah, I see you’ve heard of me,” he adds when Sam freezes.

“Yes,” Sam bites out.

“Man, what do we do with you?” The longer Dean spends around this guy, the more the creeps intensify. Plus, he came here to hurt Magda, and he’s clearly pissing Sam off too, and Dean’s just about had enough of him.

“I know you won’t kill me,” Ketch says. He looks irritatingly confident in this belief. “You’re known to have an ironclad code of honor—”

“Not that ironclad,” Dean cuts in. “Sammy?”

“They’ll keep coming after us if we let them go,” Sam replies. “They won’t stop till they’ve succeeded in whatever it is they want.”

“We just want information,” Ketch says. “And to take back what’s ours.”

“I don’t care what you want,” Dean informs him squarely. “I don’t care how legit you people are. You hurt Sam, and you came in here trying to hurt Magda, too. I couldn’t care less what you want.”

“Not very wise of you,” Ketch replies, clicking his tongue infuriatingly. “I think you’ll find that cooperating with us is the best course of action here—”

“Don’t care,” Dean interjects loudly. “You can keep talking for all I care, man, just know that nothing’s gonna make us listen, all right?”

“You want to rid the world of monsters,” Ketch says quickly. “That’s what we want, too. We’ve got equipment, and you’ve got manpower. If we work together, we can—”

“That’s what you want to do?” Sam cuts in incredulously, from where he’s kneeling on the floor next to Magda’s still form. “You want to work together? You’ve got a strange way of saying it.”

“If you’d give me a chance,” begins Ketch.

“Why?” Sam cuts in. “Your people tortured me for _days_. You just broke into our home and tried to hurt us. You clearly want to hurt an innocent teenager. Why should we give you a chance when it’s clear you have no intention of playing nice?”

“Innocent teenager?” repeats Ketch, raising an eyebrow at Sam, like it’s the only thing he’s heard from what Sam has said. “You do know what she’s capable of, right?”

“She’s a kid,” Dean says fiercely. “And she’s _ours_ , and you don’t get to keep talking crap. She’s not your problem. She’s not anyone’s problem.”

Whatever Ketch is about to say to that is cut off by a small groan. “Magda?” Sam says at once, and Dean turns his head slightly to see her sit up in Sam’s arms, holding her head.

“What happened?” she asks, wiping at her face.

“You passed out,” Sam tells her. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by five trucks,” she mumbles. “My head—Dean, look out!”

Her warning comes just in time – Dean turns his attention back to Ketch at the same moment that he draws a small knife from his boot. Reacting more on instinct than anything else, Dean shoots, not bothering to aim.

The bullet lodges in Ketch’s thigh, eliciting a choked-off shout of pain. At the same time, the knife flies out of his still-bound hands and darts past them into a bookshelf, before clattering to the floor. Exhausted by this last use of her powers, Magda slumps in Sam’s arms, breathing heavily.

“I’m okay,” she whispers hoarsely before Sam can ask. “I just need a moment—”

Ketch’s shouting has dulled into bitter, strained curses. “Oh, shut up, you tried to stab me,” Dean tells him dismissively, sparing his thigh the barest of glances to make sure he didn’t hit an artery. Last thing he wants is some asshole bleeding out all over his floor.

“What do we do with him?” Sam asks. Magda’s head is on his shoulder, and he’s absently petting her hair with one hand, the other still pointing his gun towards Ketch.

“I say we ditch ‘em,” Dean suggests. “Put them all out on the road. They can do whatever they want.”

“I need a hospital,” Ketch grits out.

“Don’t give a shit,” Dean informs him shortly. “You’re lucky you’re still alive, you bastard.”

“Because you’re weak,” sneers Ketch. It’s astounding how he manages to be smarmy even as he’s pale with agony. “You American hunters don’t have what it takes. None of you. That’s why you need us—”

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Dean cuts in. “Another word out of you and I’m shooting you in the mouth. Shut. Up.” He turns to Sam. “Gonna need some help, dude.”

“Go,” Magda tells them. “I’ll be fine, I’m gonna eat something, go get cleaned up—”

“You sure?” Sam asks uncertainly.

She raises her head off his shoulder to give him a shaky smile. “Yeah, Sam. I’ll call if I need you.”

“We won’t be far,” Sam tells her, appearing appeased by this. “We’ll be back in half an hour, tops.”

“Got it,” she says, letting Sam help her to her feet.

“You’re enabling a monster,” Ketch tells them. Clearly he has trouble following basic instructions.

Well, it’s not Dean’s problem. He’s already warned him. Without another word he raises his gun hand and knocks Ketch out with the butt. “God, they just never fuckin’ stop talking, do they?” he complains, putting the safety on his gun and tucking it into his jeans. “Just… endless yammering, man.”

“It does get annoying,” Sam agrees, watching Magda make her way slowly towards her room.

Between the two of them, Sam and Dean manage to get the four men loaded in the back of an old pickup truck from the bunker’s garage. It’s late at night, and their tiny little town is asleep, and so they drive undisturbed to a spot a few miles down the highway.

“They’re some hitchhiker’s problem now,” Dean says as he drags the last of them – Ketch – down to the bushes by the side of the highway. He doesn’t bother taking any care to avoid further injury to Ketch’s leg.

“Do you think we should, I don’t know, call 911 for them, or something?” Sam asks pensively as they head back towards the truck.

“You kidding? Let ‘em rot, Sammy, it’s what they’d have done to us,” Dean replies decisively. “Smarmy fucks. They got off light, honestly.”

“I don’t feel right, leaving them like this,” Sam says.

“’Cause you’re too good for your own good,” Dean tells him. “What?” he says defensively in response to Sam’s snort. “You _are_ , okay. Only reason I didn’t kill ‘em is ‘cause I knew you’d complain for weeks afterwards, man.”

“I don’t complain that much, jerk,” Sam mutters, but he’s half-smiling in the dark as they reach the truck. Dean gets in the driver’s seat, but Sam’s digging around for something in the glove compartment. “Wait,” he mutters when Dean makes an annoyed sound.

He fishes out a tiny first-aid kit. Ignoring Dean’s incredulous look, he tosses it in the vague direction of the four men, and then gets into the passenger seat.

“Honestly, man,” is all Dean says, shaking his head as he puts the truck into drive. “Like I said. Too good for your own good.”

“It’s not that,” Sam says, adjusting the heating. “We’re better than them, Dean. That’s what it is.”

“Damn straight,” Dean replies after a moment, and reaches out to squeeze the back of Sam’s neck once.

Magda’s in her room when they get back. She’s in bed, the lights turned down low, and she lets out a low moan when Dean accidentally closes the door too loudly.

“Magda?” Sam says, voice low.

“My head is _killing_ me,” she whispers back, squinting at him when he sits down next to her on the bed. “I tried to eat, but I threw it up.”

“It’s okay,” Sam tells her, putting his hand down on her forehead. “You just need to sleep it off.”

“I _can’t_ ,” she replies, eyes falling shut. “I feel like my brain’s gonna explode—”

“Sounds like a migraine,” Dean says, still standing. “Sammy used to get those too. Still does, sometimes. I’ll go bring you some painkillers.”

“Thank you,” Magda whispers, and Dean gives her a little smile before leaving the room.

The unease he’s been feeling all night has dissipated, somewhat. They’re safe now, he knows. At least for the foreseeable future, thinks Dean as he sidesteps the small puddle of blood in the library on his way to the infirmary.

Still, they’re going to need a plan, a strategy of some sort. He should probably call Missouri and update her. Maybe call Mom too, just to apprise her of the situation and let her know to watch out. That’s if Mom even picks up. Maybe he’ll just text her.

Magda is lying on her side when Dean returns to her room, painkillers and a glass of water in hand. Sam’s still sitting next to her, gently running his fingers through her hair, and she appears – a bit more comfortable, if not entirely relaxed.

“Here,” Dean says, voice low, as he sits in the chair by her bed. Sam smiles at him in thanks, before helping Magda sit up long enough to have a pill with the water.

“You should feel better soon,” he says, helping her lie down again when she’s done.

She nods, closing her eyes. “Thank you,” she says again.

“Hey, nothing to thank us for,” Dean reminds her, reaching out to pat her shoulder. “Get some rest, all right? We’ll get some food into you in the morning, get your strength back up. You’re gonna be just fine, kid.”

Magda smiles without opening her eyes, and squeezes Dean’s hand once. “I know,” she whispers.

“Call for us if you need anything,” Sam tells her, pulling her blanket up to her chin. “Goodnight, Magda.”

“’Night, guys.”

They exit the room, taking care to make as little noise as possible. Dean ends up following Sam into his room, watching as Sam practically sinks down in bed without bothering to undress.

“You’re good with her,” Dean says.

Sam smiles at him tiredly, pausing in the motion of kicking his shoes off. “Learned from the best,” he says simply.

“Flatterer,” Dean replies fondly, reaching out and ruffling Sam’s hair before he sits down in Sam’s desk chair. “Let’s update Missouri, and then I’ll leave you to get some sleep.”

“Right, yeah,” Sam says, sitting up to take his flannel and jeans off, leaving him in only his undershirt and boxers. He yawns, and Dean grins at him as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, dialing Missouri.

She picks up at once. “Thank heavens you’re all fine!” she exclaims.

“Yeah, just wanted to let you know,” Dean tells her. “It’s kind of a mess, honestly—” He narrates the entire incident as succinctly as he can, with Sam filling in the occasional blank.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re all safe,” Missouri sighs when he’s done. “How is Magda holding up?”

“She’s asleep,” Sam replies. “Had a migraine. She did so well, Missouri, you should’ve seen it—”

Dean smiles at the pride shining clear through Sam’s tone. “Yeah, she was great.”

“She’s a brave girl,” Missouri agrees. “I’m happy she has you two to look after her.”

Sam opens his mouth to reply, but ends up yawning instead. Grinning, Dean says, “Well, Sammy’s dead on his feet, and so am I. I bet you’re tired too, Missouri. We’ll speak in the morning.”

“No, you’ll forget to call,” Missouri informs him. “We’ll speak in the evening, Dean. I’d better be getting to bed, too.”

“’Night, Missouri,” Sam says, rubbing at his eyes. He doesn’t look much older than Magda when he does that, and the sight makes Dean’s protectiveness surge up again.

“Goodnight, boys,” Missouri says, and hangs up.

“Okay,” Dean says, pocketing his phone again. “Bed, Sammy. You look beat.”

“I feel it, too,” Sam admits. “You need to rest as well, Dean.”

“I will,” Dean tells him. “Hey, I was thinking – we should probably let Mom know what happened.”

“That’ll be a long story,” Sam says, yawning again.

“Well, she’ll just have to deal with it,” Dean says decisively. “We’ll call her later, all right? Besides, it’s about time we told her she kinda has a grandkid now.”

Sam laughs tiredly. “Yeah, that’s probably information she should have,” he agrees, running a hand down his face.

“She should know what’s going on,” Dean says, growing serious again. “’Cause I don’t think those assholes are done with us.”

“No, I don’t think so, either,” Sam replies. “That definitely wasn’t the last of them.”

“They’ll keep coming,” Dean predicts.

“And next time there’ll be more of them,” Sam adds. “They underestimated us, which is why it wasn’t too hard to beat them this time. Won’t be like that next time.”

Dean nods, well-aware that Sam’s right. “We’re gonna need a plan, Sammy.”

“Yeah, but – tomorrow,” Sam says. “I’m exhausted, man, I can’t think right now—”

“No, yeah, ‘course,” Dean says, getting to his feet. “Get some sleep, man.”

“I will if you will,” Sam counters, looking determined despite his fatigue.

“I will, I swear,” Dean tells him. Then, on a whim, he puts one arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. “I’m glad we’re all okay,” he murmurs.

Sam hugs him back, arms circling Dean’s middle. “Me too,” he says, half-muffled due to his face pressed into Dean’s belly.

“We did good with her,” Dean says, patting the back of Sam’s head once before letting go.

Sam smiles up at him, eyes bright. “Yeah, we did.”

Magda’s much better by breakfast the next morning. She still looks pale and shaky, but there’s more color to her, and she no longer looks like she’s going to pass out any moment.

“Hey, kid,” Dean says, once she’s done with her bacon.

“Yeah?” she asks, sipping her coffee.

“Here’s how it is,” he says. “Those people from last night, they’re gonna keep coming back. They’re gonna keep trying to get at you, possibly Sammy, too. We can’t stop them, but you know what we _can_ do? We can be prepared. Kick their asses before they kick ours.”

“We’ve already spoken to Missouri,” Sam adds. “I was thinking – if it’s okay with her, we could go visit her. She’ll be much better at helping you adjust to your powers.”

“You’ll leave me there?” Magda asks apprehensively. It seems that’s all she’s picked up from what they’ve told her.

“No, of course not,” Sam says at once, reassuring. “We’ll be with you every step of the way, Magda.”

“Meant it when we said you’re ours now,” Dean tells her. “You’re family, Magda. We don’t leave each other behind.”

She smiles, then, slow but sincere. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Sorry, I still get scared sometimes.”

“That’s okay,” Sam says, covering her small hand with his. “Just remember that you’ve got us, all right?”

Magda nods.

“And on that note,” Dean says, finally getting to the point. “What do you think of being a hunter, kid?”

There’s a silence as she processes this, looking between the two of them with her mouth slightly open. They wait, giving her time – and sure enough, she blinks, a few moments later, and asks, “Seriously?” in the kind of tone that says she doesn’t quite believe them.

“If you want,” Sam tells her. “Totally okay if you wanna say no.”

“Why would I say no?” she asks, letting out an awed laugh. “I’d love that, I’d love to learn all the things you guys know—”

“That’s settled, then,” Dean says, grinning at her.

“Got a couple conditions, though,” Sam adds, before she can begin hopping up and down in joy. She definitely looks like she’s only a second away from doing it, notes Dean with an inward grin.

“What?” she asks excitedly, practically vibrating. “I’ll do whatever it is—”

“Get your GED first,” Sam says. “I know it sounds like it’ll be pointless, but it won’t. We still want you to have a future, Magda.” They’d discussed all this as they’d made breakfast that morning, before Magda had entered the kitchen.

“You mean like college?” Magda asks.

Sam nods. “When it’s safe for you to go,” he says. “After you’ve gotten your GED. Look, this is our life. It is what it is. But we don’t want that for you. You’ve still got a future. Yeah, it’ll be useful to be trained so that you can look after yourself, but we don’t want you to have the kind of life we have.”

“It’s bitter, this life,” Dean adds when Sam’s done. “You know that already. ‘Course it’s your choice what you wanna do with your life, kid, but you get a chance at bein’ happy, bein’ _safe_ , we want you to take it.”

“And of course, we’ll be with you,” Sam says once more. “No matter what, Magda. That won’t change.”

Magda considers all of this. There’s a silence as she thinks, and then she looks up at them, and Dean is not surprised to see tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she says, voice thick. She stands, coming round to their side of the table so that she can hug them both. “Thank you so much, it’s more than I ever thought I could have—”

“You deserve a good life,” Sam tells her gently, hugging her back. It’s the second group hug they’ve had in less than twenty-four hours, and normally Dean would crack some kind of joke about it, but now’s really not the time.

Damn, he’s finally growing up, he thinks wryly as he hugs his brother and Magda.

Magda laughs a little when she separates, wiping at her eyes. “So,” she says with a wet smile, “when do I get to fire a gun?”

“After you’ve memorized the Latin exorcism, both long and short versions, and learned how to draw about ten different sigils,” Dean tells her squarely.

“Oh, we should probably get her the tattoo,” Sam says, like it’s just occurred to him.

“No guns?” Magda asks, looking disappointed.

“Not just yet, kid,” Dean confirms.

She sighs. “Well, at least I get a cool tattoo,” she mutters, going back to her side of the table.

“Your priorities are messed up,” Dean tells her with a smirk.

She sticks her tongue out at him in response, making Sam laugh. To cover up the sudden, embarrassing giddiness in his chest, Dean makes a face, grumbling, “You know I can ground you now, right?”

“Oh, no, I won’t be able to leave the house. Whatever will happen to my bustling social life and my thousands of friends?” Magda snarks back.

“No Netflix,” Dean says.

“I’ll read,” she retorts.

“No fun books.”

“I’ll read the non-fun ones.”

“No – ugh, Sammy, I’m running out of things.”

“C’mon, Dean, we both know you’re not gonna ground her.”

“Ugh, fine. _Fine_ , whatever.”

This is his family. Sammy, and Mom when she wants to be – and now Magda, too. They’re Dean’s, and it’s his job to keep them safe, and there’s no line he won’t cross to do just that. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do just to make sure they’re all okay.

The British Men of Letters will come again. Dean knows that. But as he watches Sam show Magda how to draw a Devil’s Trap, as he sees the excitement and concentration on her face, he realizes he’s not too worried. They’ve got Missouri, and Magda, and each other. They’ve faced worse odds before, and survived anyway.

They’ll be ready.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought!! man, this family is gonna be a lot of fun once jack arrives lmao
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @[thelegendofwinchester](http://chesterbennington.co.vu) too! come say hi <3
> 
> love,  
> remy x


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